Stitches Extended
by gothicorca1895
Summary: He was newly created, custom-made, but he wasn't stupid. Even from the second he gained awareness, he had a sense of self, a sense of intelligence, although he truly knew so little...Movieverse.
1. A Name

_A/N -- From the author of The Forgotten, comes a brand-new version of the movie from the Other Wybie's perspective!!!! DUN DUN DUN!!!!_

_Is it an overdone idea? Yes. But I guaruntee that you'll never read another version that's quite like this one._

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He was newly created, custom-made, but he wasn't stupid.

Even from the second he gained awareness, he had a sense of self, a sense of intelligence, although he truly knew so little.

It began with a melody, the shadow of a song drifting and finally penetrating his ears. It was quite enrapturing, especially considering that it was the first sound he had ever heard.

"La-da da-da da-da dum-dum, la-da da-da da, da-da-dum…"

Next came the sight. Even though the space he was in was dark, he could see himself, and he could see the pretty, pale, radiant woman leaning over him. She had not noticed his rise to consciousness, occupied as she was by repeatedly threading a needle through the cuff of his pant leg.

He struggled to raise himself – he was lying flat on a large table of some sort. Now the woman saw him, and as she raised her head, he saw her eyes were sparkling black buttons. But that didn't disturb him – his own eyes were identical to hers.

The woman's face glowed with girlish delight. "Oh, you're awake," she gushed. "Hush – don't speak, my dear. Oh, but what am I saying?" She laughed at her own foolishness. "You couldn't speak if you tried."

She continued to stitch up his clothes as he tried to force himself to a sitting position. It wasn't easy. His arms wobbled vigorously, like they were filled with jelly. When the woman realized this, she placed a crimson-nailed hand on his chest and coaxed him back down. "_Shhh. _Relax," she crooned. "You're not quite strong enough yet, dear. Oh, but we haven't even been properly introduced!" She smiled and pointed to herself with a long, elegant finger. "I am the Other Mother, though I will, of course, be the _only_ mother that _you_ will ever have."

Moth-er, moth-er, Oth-er Moth-er. He wasn't quite sure what a mother was, but decided that it wouldn't be a bad thing to have.

"As for _you_," the _Oth-er Moth-er_ continued, "_you_ are called the Other Wybie." She leaned in closer to him. "Do you understand, dear? _Other Wybie_."

Oth-er Wy-bie, Oth-er Wy-bie. He turned the name around in his mind. Not just a name but _his_ name. He was so pleased to have it that he didn't acknowledge the fact that _Other _Wybie meant that someone else was also a Wybie. That didn't really matter – did it?

"There." The Other Mother tied off the end of the thread she was using, satisfied with her work. "I'm just about finished. I'll be going now, dear; you sat here and rest awhile. You may come find me in the kitchen when you feel a little stronger."

The Other Mother opened the door, briefly allowing a sliver of pale yellow light to slip in. He saw that this room had many counters and drawers, all with fabric and thread and needles and buttons, oh, so many buttons. Then the darkness swallowed up the light again, and he could only see his own dark clothes and creamy brown skin.

So he rested, sensing that something important was coming.

After all, he was newly created, custom-made, but he wasn't stupid.


	2. A Purpose

_A/N -- Really? No reviews for the first chapter? What happened? Did I do something wrong? Do you not like the story? What is it?_

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After some time, in which he was in a sort of stupor, he decided that it was time to get up off of the table.

He tested out his arms and legs; they seemed to be working all right. His first attempt at climbing to the floor resulted in a worming motion, so that he was half-hanging off of the table on his stomach. Slowly, patiently, he lowered himself to the floor.

Standing now, he swayed unsteadily on his feet. The trick would be figuring out how to walk, and then using it to navigate out of the room. Hesitantly, he guided one foot forward. Then he lifted his other foot and placed it in front of the first. In this way, he tottered towards the door. Admittedly, there have been toddlers who walked more gracefully than he did, but for him this was a real accomplishment.

The door certainly looked rather big and heavy, but it glided open as soon as he pushed on it. His arms extended like a gymnast's on a balance beam, he shuffled down a bright and ornate hallway, in search of the Other Mother.

There were voices coming from the room at the end of the hall:

"Mother, where is that boy you made?" A man said this.

"Patience, pumpkin. He's resting. He should be here soon." This was the Other Mother, he reflected.

"But Coraline will be here any minute!" exclaimed the man's voice.

"I know, I know. He'll be ready, so don't worry so much. Now, why don't you go out and prepare the garden for – "

He popped his head in through the entrance then. The Other Mother sat around a small kitchen table with the man he had heard. The man had a narrow face, but it was optimistic and pleasant. He wore loudly patterned pajamas and a funny little outdoor hat. "Ah, there you are!" exclaimed the man.

"Wybie, this is the Other Father," smiled the Other Mother. "Father, this is the Other Wybie."

He staggered a little further into the kitchen. "How ya doin', kiddo?" the Other Father greeted him, rumpling his curls. He smiled bashfully in response. The Other Father laughed. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

"Don't fluster the poor dear," scolded the Other Mother, shooing the Other Father away. "And he can't speak. I didn't give him a voice."

"No voice?" repeated the Other Father, surprised. His half-moon glasses bounced over his button eyes, finally settling on that great beak of a nose.

"No," confirmed the Other Mother. "I think Coraline will like him better that way, don't you?"

"I suppose," admitted the Other Father. "You know her better than I do, Mother."

"Of course I do," the Other Mother purred.

He looked back and forth, caught between the two adults, unable to follow either half of the conversation. The Other Mother pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Now, I do think that you're being very rude to Wybie, darling. We have to explain to him what it is we're doing – otherwise, he'll be of no help to us at all."

"Oh, silly me!" the Other Father scolded himself. "Very well, then. Would you like to start, Mother?"

"I would indeed." The Other Mother settled herself comfortably in the wooden chair, beaming at him. "The reason why I made you, dear," she began, "is because I need your help. You see, there is a girl named Coraline, who lives in another world connected to this one. She's not happy there. Her parents and neighbors neglect and ignore her. She's being cast aside as if she was nothing. But she's not nothing. You're going to meet her soon, dear, and I'm sure you'll agree that she's really _something_."

He listened raptly, trying will all his efforts to follow here.

"We need to convince her to stay here," the Other Mother continued. "It shouldn't be too hard. You're going to help us with it. You'll meet Coraline, and when you do, act just as you are now – quiet and sweet." A small pink tongue darted over her lips. "I always pride myself in giving better homes to such abandoned children."

It did seem to be a noble cause. He was newly created, custom-made, but he wasn't stupid. He realized that he had been created for this mysterious Coraline, and to please her – that was his purpose.

_His purpose._ He liked it even more than his name. He now had something to do. He would apply himself completely to doing it.


End file.
